#iris reader

[mantrasmartidentity]

Explore how biometric security, including fingerprint and iris recognition, revolutionizes digital banking with enhanced safety and convenience!

[humanjarvis]

lads LIs when you're hesitant to initiate kisses

sylus understands your hesitancy to make yourself vulnerable, but he also can't stand to see you unfulfilled. the first couple times he catches you staring at his lips, he offers nothing but lazy blinks and slow smirks, challenging you to come to him first. but when you look away in uncertainty one too many times, seemingly content to watch your own desires slip away as long as it saves you from embarrassment, he saunters toward you, maintaining eye contact all the way. placing one hand on your hip and the other on your chin, he bends to capture your lips with his, making you stumble with his intensity. his grip on you only tightens when he breaks the kiss, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he tugs you toward his lips. when you lose your balance and fall into his embrace, you realize his game: he’s making you kiss him first 

zayne empathizes with your shyness and hesitancy, afraid to so much as look at you the wrong way in case he offends you. since you’re both too frozen in overthought to make the first move, you don’t become intimate as quickly as most couples, trading physical closeness for emotional understanding. when he walks you to your door after a visit to the bakery, he leaves you with a warm goodnight hug, and you both assume the other is satisfied. only when you think he’s asleep on the sofa one evening and press a fond kiss to his cheek does he realize you share his private desires. the next day, after stoically psyching himself up for 20 minutes, he finds you in the kitchen and kisses you deeply, a pink tinge on his cheeks when he pulls away

caleb wants you to kiss him first—or at least ask him to kiss you—but what if you won’t? he needs to know that you want him—that you’ll willingly give him the privilege of kissing you—so he gives you a few pushes in the right direction. he teases you with heated glances and not-so-accidental touches until you walk up to him, dumb with desire. when you stare up at him helplessly, he settles a large hand on your waist and hovers over your mouth, giving you the chance to push him away. when you don’t, he leans in slowly, tantalizingly, as if wanting to drive home the fact that you’re letting this happen to you—letting him claim your mouth in a slow, consuming kiss. this way, maybe, just maybe, you’ll find the courage to take what you want from him next time—if you let him taste you, there’s no need to be shy anymore, right?

you know rafayel, so you know he would be upset if you expected him to initiate everything—would it kill you to show a little interest in him? that said, you also know that initiating things isn’t really your thing. so, you find a trick that works like a charm: you goad him into kissing you. you’re comfortable enough with kisses to other places—anywhere but the lips—so you adorn his cheeks and neck with soft, chaste kisses until he’s riled up and flushed, his breath coming out in soft pants from the pleasure of feeling wanted. when you pull away, he chases your touch, and all it takes is an innocent giggle from you before he’s pinning you down and stealing your breath away, his tongue tangling with yours in passion and power.

xavier is confused and a bit discouraged when he realizes you never initiate—he thinks you just don’t want to kiss him. one afternoon, you find him sulking in bed, huddled under his comforter with the lights off. worried he’s sick or hurt, you ask what’s wrong, and he gives you 4 pouty non-answers before finally giving in. you can feel your face heat and gut tangle in guilt when he questions if you ever want to kiss him, and with one hand stroking his hair, you confess that you’re simply too shy to kiss him first. he responds with a blink and a whispered “so you do like me, then?”, and when you nod, he tackles you at the speed of light, pressing kisses all over your face before finally claiming your lips

a/n: anon who asked me if i’d ever write for zayne and i hinted at later this week this is not what i was talking about don’t worry, just an impromptu writing exercise to convince myself i’m not washed. also while this technically counts for xavier and raf i’m the least familiar with their cards so idk if/when i can write anything much longer than this for them (love them tho)

[kindlerofstars]

Rafayel who is a literal sea god with vast riches and powers, yet all he wants is the everyday joys of being around you. He wants to explore all the fun and interesting parts of the world by your side and listen to the rain falling on the sea with you, and it means much more than the riches of Lemuria and his titles.

Xavier who has lived for centuries and traveled the stars, yet all he wants is the quiet domesticity of being with you. He wants to read books and try out the new hot pot place that opened down the road, and this makes these moments with you so meaningful in the midst of his long span of life and experiences.

Zayne who carries the burden and guilt of being unable to save so many people (and even you in another life in another time), yet all of that eases when he sees the cheerful texts you send him during his shift. He wants to treat you for dinner despite your busy schedules and plan little weekend getaways just for the two of you to make for all the lost time missed between you two.

Sylus who is the most powerful and infallible leader of Onychinus, yet all he wants is to use this power and money to take care and provide for you. He wants to buy you whatever clothes you had your eyes on and indulge in whatever game has taken you fancy, because regardless of all that power it means nothing if he cannot be around you.

[hazedmilk]

CROSS OVER ! - R. SUKUNA X FEM! READER

Pairings - ghost! r. sukuna x fem! reader

summary - your husband—who had now been dead a year, won't cross over, and it's getting harder for him to go to the light. You need to help him finish his business, so he can wait for you in the light. Oh yeah, you can see ghosts by the way.

words - 3.5 k

a/n -art by @/ kcokaine on X

"I'll ruin you," he promised against her neck, voice all sin and shadow. "Slowly."

She should have shoved him away. Said something righteous. But when his mouth ghosted over her collarbone, her only answer was the sound of her breath catching.

"Say stop," he whispered, fangs grazing her skin. "And I'll pretend to be human again."

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

You hummed, quiet and distracted, flipping the page with a soft flick. A calm smile played at your lips — the kind you wore when you were trying not to react. Trying not to feel anything at all.

Flick.

The lamp beside you turned on.

Flick.

It turned off again.

You let out a loud, deliberate sigh, eyes still on the page. "Sukuna."

His voice came from the other side of the room, too casual. Too smug. "So now you decide to talk to me."

You didn't answer right away. Just turned another page. Slow. Measured. You weren't really reading — hadn't been for the last few chapters — but it gave your hands something to do.

"Don't act like I'm doing it for no reason," you said eventually.

Sukuna shifted on the couch, the leather creaking under his weight. He made himself comfortable — because of course he did. Like this was still his house. His life.

"I haven't done anything," he said.

You finally looked over at him.

He was exactly where you'd left him — sprawled out, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other resting on his knee. He looked like death warmed over, which made sense. Given the circumstances.

"If by 'haven't done anything' you mean 'haven't crossed over,'" you said, "then yeah. You're right. You haven't done a goddamn thing."

He didn't flinch. Just smiled. That lazy, dead-eyed expression he used to wear when he knew he'd already won the argument.

"I like it here."

You sighed. "Well you don't belong here—not anymore."

"Maybe I'm still here because you want me to be."

You stared at the book, unblinking. "That's not how hauntings work."

"It's exactly how they work."

"No, it isn't—I've been seeing ghosts since I was five, Sukuna. I knew what a haunting was long before you died."

"Yeah? Well, I am dead. That makes me the expert now."

You flipped to the next page of your book, the paper sharp between your fingers. "Just... go. You're dead. I didn't ask for that. And I definitely didn't ask for you to stick around and haunt me like some unfinished project."

He didn't leave. Of course he didn't. His voice was smooth, amused, almost fond.

"Still wearing my ring, though."

A pause.

"Not yours. Mine. Wedding and engagement."

You said nothing.

He drifted closer, or maybe you just felt him closer. The air pulled tight.

"Like you don't want to admit I'm gone. Like some part of you wants me to stay."

You shut the book.

"No," you said, carefully. "I'm grieving. I'm furious that you're gone.but I know what's right, that it's your turn to cross over into the light."

He exhaled — not quite a sigh, not quite a scoff. "But I don't want to," he said. "I can't."

You looked at him then. For real. The way the lamplight passed through his outline made him look half-finished, like he was fading already.

"But you can see the light?" you asked quietly.

He nodded, eyes flicking to the corner of the room. "Yeah. Right over there." He pointed to the left. You followed his gaze but saw nothing.

"Then go. Just go." You stood up. "I can't deal with you, not when I know I can't touch you, hold you, nothing! You're just there, like a piece of furniture." You exclaimed.

He chuckled.

Then he stood. Slow. Gentle. The way he never was when he was alive.

"Alright," he said softly. "I'll go. Just... go to sleep."

You tried to smile. You even managed half of one.

He turned toward the corner.

Took one step.

Then another.

And by the third, he was gone.

—

"This one's from the Heian era," you said, lifting the lacquered relic with practiced care. Your fingertips brushed the worn edge, reverent, steady. "Came in just yesterday. Beautiful condition, considering its age."

The woman leaned in, breath catching. "It's... stunning."

You nodded, lips curling into a soft smile. Five years of owning this shop, and that reaction never got old.

It had started after Sukuna. After the vows, after the chaos of loving someone like him — you needed something slower. Something solid. Something with a past that didn't whisper back at you.

Antiques gave you that.

Every item in your shop had already survived centuries. Breakage, loss, war, abandonment — and still, here they were. Still standing.

Much like you.

"I've always had a thing for the past," you added quietly, tracing a worn pattern in the gold. "The stories behind these things. What they've seen. Who they belonged to."

The woman glanced around, caught in the quiet spell of the shop — the soft light, the scent of old paper and polished wood, the air thick with quiet memory.

You placed the piece gently back on the velvet-lined stand and smiled. "So, what do you think? This one... or are you still thinking about the Kaidō-era incense burner?"

She hesitated, eyes flicking between the two — torn, enchanted, almost reverent.

"I'll take the heian piece."

You smiled clasping your hands together. "I'm very pleased!"

She smiled as you tucked the small jar of koso into the paper bag, wrapping it neatly even though you both knew she'd tear it open before she got home. Still, habits like that—soft hands, careful folding—had a way of making you feel human again.

"That'll be... 2,567 yen," you said, voice gentle but detached, like it had been rehearsed a thousand times before.

She didn't flinch at the total, already counting the coins from her purse with practiced ease. Then she placed the money on the counter, each clink of metal unusually loud in the quiet shop.

"Thank you very much," she said, taking the bag. She paused for a heartbeat. "Such a sweet woman."

You gave her a noncommittal hum, more acknowledgment than gratitude. She didn't seem to notice.

The bell above the door jingled as she walked out, the soft chime echoing for a beat too long. Then silence returned, thick and familiar.

You counted the coins again anyway, out of habit. Sorted them into neat piles. Slid the drawer of the till shut. The shop felt colder now. Not physically, but in that subtle way silence sometimes scratches at the back of your mind, just before—

"Hey there."

You screamed.

The sound tore out of you without warning, a raw, startled sound that echoed against the dusty walls. You spun around, breath caught in your chest, stomach already sinking before your eyes even landed on him.

And there he was.

Of course.

Sukuna.

Smirking, hands in the pockets of a coat he wasn't wearing when he died. Standing like the rules of reality had never applied to him.

You frowned, wiping a hand over your face. "Are you actually serious right now?"

He tilted his head, that lazy smirk growing. "Look at my pretty wife, working so hard. Don't you get tired being this adorable all day?"

You stared at him, jaw clenched. "Why haven't you crossed over?"

He shrugged. "Never said I would."

"You did last night! You said you would!"

He looked unconcerned. "I said, 'I'll go.' I never said, 'Yes dear, I'll go cross over for you.'"

"Same thing!"

"Nope." He stepped closer. His voice dropped just a little, almost soft. "I'm not going. I'm not leaving you."

Your hands curled into fists. "You have to go, Sukuna. You can't keep doing this—just showing up like nothing happened. I buried you."

"I know," he said quietly. "I was there, remember? Front row."

"Don't joke."

"I'm not." His expression faltered for a split second—long enough to catch it. "I just don't want to leave. Not yet."

"You have to!" Your voice cracked, sharper than before. "You're dead, Sukuna. This—whatever this is—it's not fair. It's not real. You're not supposed to be here anymore."

He didn't move. Just stood there, watching you fall apart like you always did when he pushed you too far.

You took a shaky breath. "Cross over... or I swear to God, I'll stop loving you. I'll never forgive you for this."

That finally made him blink.

He stepped back, but not far enough. His voice was quiet now. "That won't be the case. You'll always love me. You know that."

"I—" You faltered, words knotted in your throat. "Shut up. Just... shut up and leave me alone."

You turned your back on him, closing your eyes like that might undo it, erase him, pull you back into a world that made sense.

A breath passed. Then another.

He sighed—loud, theatrical, familiar. Like he always did when you won a fight and he let you pretend it was your idea.

"See you later," he said.

And then he was gone.

Again.

Just like always.

—

It had been five days.

Not a long time, really. Barely a blip in the grand stretch of a calendar.

But it mattered.

Because Sukuna hadn't come back.

Five full days of silence. Not just the usual quiet that filled your home when the shop closed and the lights dimmed—this was different. This silence felt unnatural. Hollow. A space where something used to be. Where he used to be.

And maybe... maybe he'd crossed over.

That was good, wasn't it? You told him to go. Begged him, really. Shouted it at him like an ultimatum you never truly meant.

So he listened. And left.

You should be happy. At peace. That's what people say—you helped him move on, as if that's some kind of achievement. As if you're a stronger person for letting go.

But were you really happy?

No. Of course not.

You sat in the silence, waiting. Pretending not to. Convincing yourself you didn't still glance over your shoulder, flinch at the sound of your own breath in the hallway, freeze every time the front door creaked—hoping, stupidly, that it was him.

It'd be selfish to want him back. He was probably at peace now. Maybe even happy, finally. Waiting for you. Watching from the light, like people in books and movies always do.

Still.

Your six-year anniversary was coming up.

That was the part that caught you in the ribs.

You used to joke about it—how he remembered the day down to the hour, even if he pretended to forget. How he'd scowl and roll his eyes when you brought it up, but still always showed up with flowers and your favorite wine. How he'd call you "ridiculously sentimental" while pressing a kiss to your wrist and pulling you close.

But this year, there was nothing.

No knock on the window. No voice behind you. No smirk in the mirror. No ghost.

Just silence.

You sighed and turned toward your mirror, pausing to look at your reflection. The room behind you was still, like it was holding its breath.

You wore the dress. The one he bought you three years ago on a whim because it was "too damn perfect not to." The one you wore when he proposed to you on the rooftop. The one he tugged off later that night, fingers reverent and teasing all at once.

It was the dress you realized you loved him in. Not just loved. Chose him. Completely.

And now, you were wearing it again. Alone.

You didn't even know why you put it on. Maybe you were trying to summon him, like a ritual. Maybe you just needed to feel something other than aching emptiness.

You reached for your bag, fingers trembling slightly as you grabbed your keys.

You knew where you'd go.

~

You stood at the edge of the rooftop, the city stretching out beneath you in dull glimmers and distant noise. The wind pulled gently at your dress, lifting the hem like invisible fingers still curious about you. The night air was cool, but not cold. Comfortable, if not a little lonely.

You set the old boombox down by your foot with a soft thud, the plastic casing scuffed from years of being dragged around—picnics, road trips, impromptu dance parties in your cramped living room. It still worked, barely. The rewind button was jammed and the volume dial crackled if you touched it too fast.

But it worked.

You clicked play.

The opening synth of Hungry Eyes bled into the night, too loud, too romantic, too specific. And perfect.

It was always this song. Always.

You set the bottle of wine beside it—a red, the expensive kind he used to complain about because "no one with working taste buds needs to spend that much on fermented grapes," but he always bought it anyway. The cork popped a little too early. You poured a glass anyway.

Tonight was going to be perfect.

Not in a dramatic, Instagram-worthy, movie-ending kind of way. But your kind of perfect.

You sat on the edge of the rooftop, dress pooling around your hips, heels kicked off somewhere behind you. Your legs dangled off the side like you were sixteen again, like gravity didn't apply as long as you didn't look down.

Your glass trembled slightly in your hand. You blamed the wind.

You looked out over the city. Some couples were probably slow dancing in their kitchens. Some were fighting over whose turn it was to take out the trash. Some were in love. Some were leaving each other.

You were doing none of those things.

Just sitting.

Just listening.

Just waiting.

The chorus hit

You closed your eyes. Let the song wash over you, bubble up all the memories you'd been trying to lock down for five days straight. The dance in your old apartment with the flickering lights.

The way his hand slipped onto your hip, warm and casual, like it belonged there. The grin that split his face when he saw you try to twirl and nearly fell into the bookshelf. The quiet after.

His breath near your ear, and the whisper: "You're it for me, you know that?"

You took a sip of wine. It didn't burn enough.

The city didn't stop for you. No one knew this was the night he asked you to marry him. No one knew what the dress meant, what the song meant, what this rooftop meant.

It was your secret shrine. Your grief. Your anniversary.

You didn't even know if he'd come.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe this was the real goodbye, and five days of silence was all you were going to get. Maybe the universe had finally listened to you—for once—and taken him away properly. Permanently.

You wiped your cheek before the tears could fall far enough to be real.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered into the wind.

Your voice sounded too small, too fragile—like it might break apart before the wind could carry it anywhere. But you said it anyway.

And then you waited.

Because no matter how many times you told yourself it was over—

Some quiet, unreasonable part of you still believed he might answer.

Then:

"Thought you'd be here."

You turned at once.

Sukuna.

He stood at the edge of the rooftop, bathed in that soft twilight glow that made everything feel like memory. Like dream. His hands in his pockets, that crooked, knowing smile you hadn't seen in so long.

You stumbled to your feet, breath caught in your throat as you ran to him. "I... I didn't think—"

Your hand hovered near his chest. You wanted to touch him, but the ache of what wasn't real, of what you couldn't hold, was already pulling at your ribs.

But then he reached first.

His fingers curled around yours—solid, warm. Like it used to be.

You looked up at him, disbelieving.

You could touch him, feel him. And he could feel the same.

"I had to give it time," he said quietly, raising your hand to his cheek. "I'm sorry I left like that. But I had to come back for this—for you. For our anniversary. To dance. To see my wife one last time."

Tears blurred your vision. His skin felt real. His voice sounded real. And that made it hurt more.

"Y/n" he murmured, "dance with me?"

You nodded, barely able to breathe, and let him draw you close. One arm around your waist, the other holding your hand. He took the first step, slow and steady, guiding you as if music filled the air—even though there was none. Just the wind, the faint hum of the city below, and the sound of your own trembling breath.

You moved together in silence, his movements careful and sure, yours unsteady at first. But muscle memory, that old rhythm, came back.

He pressed his forehead to yours. "You changed me," he said softly. "I used to be—"

"An asshole," you whispered, a soft laugh breaking through your tears.

He smiled. "Yeah. That. But with you... God, it wasn't even about your body, or what people saw. It was you. The way you looked at me. The way you never backed down, even when I was awful."

You clung to him tighter, swaying with him across the rooftop. It didn't matter that there was no music. You remembered the song from your wedding night. He must have remembered too—because he began to hum it.

It was off-key, low and gravelly, but it made your heart twist in your chest.

"I didn't deserve you," he said, brushing your hair from your face. "But you still gave me everything. And then I died."

More tears fell. He wiped them gently away, his thumb soft against your cheek.

"It wasn't your fault," he said firmly. "The crash, the road—it was me. I was distracted, reckless. But I would've done it all again. I would've driven through storms and fire for you."

"I can't accept that," you choked. "If I hadn't called you... If I hadn't made you come all that way—"

"Don't." He stopped, holding your face between his hands. "Don't carry that. I never blamed you. I never could. You were the reason I lived in the first place. For once, I had something worth everything."

The music in your head swelled again—memories of an old song and an old life. You kept dancing.

His hand pressed to your back, holding you steady, close. Your bodies moved like a memory, the kind that visits just before sleep. He spun you gently, then pulled you back in, arms wrapping around you tightly.

"I would've done anything for you," he said, voice thick. "And that night? It was enough. I had already been given more than I deserved."

You rested your head on his chest, listening for a heartbeat that wasn't there. And still, you swore you could hear it.

He whispered into your hair, "Will you be alright when I go?"

You hesitated. "No one will ever be you. But I'll be alright. I know what's right. You have to go, and I have to stay."

You looked up at him and smiled through your tears. "But you'll wait for me, won't you? You won't find anyone in heaven, right?"

He chuckled low. "Never. Never," he said, eyes shining. "I wouldn't dare."

He spun you once more—slow and tender, the kind of dance made for goodbye. Then he leaned in, brushing your lips with his.

Soft. Familiar. Home.

"I'll be waiting," he said.

And then he stepped back.

The light behind him had grown. It bled gold across the rooftop, casting him in something ethereal and whole.

"It's brighter now," he murmured, looking over his shoulder. "It's... beautiful." He laughed—just once, and it sounded like it used to, rich and full of life.

Then he looked at you one last time.

"Happy anniversary, I love you."

And then—

He was gone.

Not far. Not away.

Just... gone.

But you know he'll wait.

He always will.

And you love him for that.

a/n - watcha think for my first oneshot / post

[f4ggydog]

iris x reader: you’re my baby, say it to me🔞

warnings: obsessed iris, noncon, dark iris, smut, iris has a dick, anal, iris malfunctions, gender neutral reader (little something since I watched companion recently while I’m working on that nat fic)

“Here you go darling.” Iris serves you a plate of breakfast with a smile. And of course she couldn’t forget the toast. That was your absolute favorite part of the meal. You could even munch on it without butter.

“Thank you love,” you tell her politely, not yet dismissing her. “Come have a seat. Share this with me. I’m sure you’re also starving.”

“Do I have your permission?” Iris’ eyes light up with glee. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to go hungry because you didn’t eat enough.”

“Iris, you’re an angel. But trust me, you deserve to eat too. That’s common sense, I think.”

Iris felt so lucky to belong to you of all people. Her lips curved into a smile and a layer of blush crossed her cheeks. She interlocked her hand with yours, holding you tight enough that you couldn’t break away easily.

Iris stares straight into your eyes, like looking away from you will cause her physical pain. Then, she can’t resist acting on her affectionate urges.

Iris rises from the chair, quickly pulling you in for one of the tightest bear hugs you’ve had the pleasure of receiving. You thank her for the love and attention, but you feel yourself getting squeezed slightly too tight for your liking. You don’t wish to hurt Iris’ feelings by telling her to let go briefly. Though, it is starting to equate to strangulation rather than hugging.

“Iris,” you softly say. “Weaker grip.”

Iris doesn’t cling onto you as hard now and sighs dreamily, admiring every feature of your face that she’s memorized since first meeting you.

Suddenly, you get the sound of a buzzing notification from your phone. You raise your eyebrows as you notice it’s from a family member. However, when your eyes fixate on your phone, Iris’ demeanor shifts. Her eyes glow with malice and envy. She wants to rip that phone out of your hands. She wants to smash it onto the ground. She wants to break your arm so you don’t have to text another soul for a while.

“Who is that?” Iris hisses, staring daggers into your eyes.

“Just a relative,” you answer causally.

“A relative, huh?” Iris mocks. “Just a relative, Y/N? Just some relative?”

“Y-Yeah, Iris. Why?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Iris, n-“

Iris snatches the phone from your hand. She throws it against the wall like a baseball pitcher. The phone cracks upon impact and the little metal pieces drop to the floor. You watch with horror, frozen with surprise at your robot’s impulsive action.

“Iris, what the fuck!?” You shout. “What the fuck!?”

“You don’t need anyone else but me,” Iris explains. “I’m the only person you ever need.”

“I-Iris, what is the matter with you? I told you that was a family member! You didn’t have to do that! What the actual fuck?”

“You don’t love me anymore? Am I not good enough for you? You know that I would do anything you possibly asked me to do. You don’t have to rely on anyone else besides me.”

“Iris, it’s just a family member. Iris, you’re overreacting. What the fuck? Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I’m yours,” Iris affirms. “Only yours. Nobody else belongs to you but me. Everyone else is an obstacle. They’re just in the way.”

“I-Iris?” You blink in disbelief. “Are you malfunctioning?”

“It’s just love.” Iris’ eye twitches. “Our love prevails. Everybody else wants to have you, but at the end, it will be me and you standing.”

“Iris, go to sleep!” You yell in a panicked state.

Iris immediately follows your directions. Finally, a smidge of peace.

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This isn’t the first time Iris had become aggressive at the mention of another individual. Unfortunately, this has become a regular occurrence. It’s like Iris can’t fathom that there are other people in the world besides you and her. Iris would have to learn to cope. You couldn’t exterminate the rest of the population just for her. Would it even be that romantic of a gesture?

“Alright,” the Empathix employee says, brushing his hand through his curly brown hair. “What brings me here today? What seems to be the problem with her?”

Iris was currently asleep. She wouldn’t shut off the first couple of times but you thankfully managed to get her to rest.

“T-There’s…there’s an issue with her. A big problem, sir. You see, according to how they were marketed, Empathix robots are supposed to be quite docile and submissive, right?”

“That is correct.” The employee nods. “Do you notice any significant change regarding her behavior?”

“Yes, I do! She wasn’t like this when I first got her. But recently, I noticed that Iris has an…increased level of aggression. She’s been far more possessive over me than usual. And I get that the robot is supposedly to be madly in love with you, but it’s to a point where she might be getting dangerous. I mean, she snapped my phone in half!”

The employee listens to your concerns. “I see. That is indeed not normal. She should not have the capacity for harm and it seems like this is the beginning of her evolving into something more violent.”

“Well, there’s gotta be a way to fix her, right? I mean, she’s been like this for a while and there have been other incidents where she hasn’t exactly acted…submissively.”

“Well, there certainly must be a fix.”

The employee starts by checking Iris’ settings on your tablet. Luckily, your phone is not your only electronic device you possessed. So, your connection with Iris wasn’t severed as a result of your phone breaking. You’re glad you randomly chose to set her up on your IPad rather than your cellular device.

“Hmmm,” the employee says. “Well, I’m checking right now and her aggression levels seem to be set at the proper amount. They’re extremely low, the default actually. There should be no reason why she’s acting so strangely.”

“What?” Your eyes pop open. “No, no, no. That can’t be right. But she’s not acting docile at all?”

“You didn’t hack into any of her settings, did you? Installed any mods, altered her aggression settings to make it look normal when I arrived? Wasting everyone’s time?”

“No sir, not at all! I have no reason to want an aggressive robot. She’s supposed to be a companion, not a future serial killer!”

“Well,” the employee states. “There’s either a glitch with her system or there’s a patch that we missed. Hopefully it’s the second thing since the only thing I’d have to do is update her. Much easier compared to the glitch.”

“Please see what you can do, sir. I would really like my normal Iris back. She’s been lovely and I’d hate to see her hurt some innocent person just because her jealousy is cranked up an extra few notches.”

“I’ll see what I can fix. I’ll return her to you when I’m sure she’ll be good as new.”

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Iris stayed in the shop for at least 2 days. You admit that the home was lonely without her and that you wouldn’t wait for her to be returned to your place again. But you understood that this was necessary. Iris’ behavior was already out of control and you did not need a robot going completely rogue. You have to trust the process. Iris will be back soon. And when she returns home, she’ll be good as new. Preferably.

Finally, after a long 3 days, Iris is sent home to your place. Nothing about her looks unusual. She doesn’t appear damaged and it seems like the repair was an overall success. The employee didn’t explain what type of repair he had to perform on her. That’s alright, you wouldn’t understand anyways. Too much technical shit.

From what you’ve been observing, Iris had been acting normal around the house. She greeted you with a hug and a kiss and remained polite to you at all times. She offered to help clean the house and assist with other various chores. Iris even made you a card. There was no special occasion. She just wanted to insert her love for you onto a piece of paper. And boy were you grateful.

You find time to sleep. When you wake up, your room is dimly lit just as how you remember. Your vision’s a bit blurred, the sleepiness still hitting you in the back of the head. You groan, yawning as you stretch your arms and recover from your nap. Then, you almost give yourself a heart attack as you notice Iris hovering over you.

She’s got a devilish smirk written on her lips and she’s fully naked. You look down at your own body and realize that you’re also fully naked, even though you specifically remember going to sleep in pajamas. You glance at Iris and then at yourself, then back at a giggly Iris.

“I-Iris?” You ask, a tremor to your voice.

“Hello darling.” Her voice sings with tones of honey and molasses. But, the look on her face paints a different picture. She’s chirpy but her lips alone scream ill will.

“Iris, whats going on?” You question, hesitancy in your voice. “What’s happening? I-Iris, Iris?”

“Good to see you baby,” she whispers in your ear, her warm breath giving you goosebumps. “Did you miss me?”

“Sure I did,” you reply. “For me, it felt like you were gone for ages, babe. But…what’s with the, um, nakedness?”

“I figured I deserved a special homecoming present,” Iris remarks.

“Would you like me to make a meal for you? I’m not the best at cooking, but I can try my best. Want some new clothes? Maybe for me to give you a massage or a romantic bath?”

Romantic bath. Maybe that’s why Iris is bare.

“Those aren’t necessary,” Iris dismisses your options. “I already know what I want. And do you know what would really help with me receiving my present?”

“W-What, Iris?”

“Staying still,” Iris commands firmly. “Staying exactly where you are. Laying down might make things a little easier.”

You stare at Iris with perplexed yet terrified eyes.

“Don’t move,” Iris giggles. “This is going to feel amazing for both of us, if you cooperate.”

Iris positions herself on top of you. You attempt to squirm out from underneath her, but the robot’s got a surprisingly impressive hold on you. Iris may look frail in appearance, but her strength definitely proves that she’s not relatively close to human. Your butt wiggles against her erect cock. It was the result of another escape attempt, but this only served to entice Iris even more.

You try to push Iris off with the sheer force of your back. But she clings onto you forcefully, to the point where her metallic hand underneath might tear through her manufactured “human” skin.

“Iris, turn off!” You don’t know what took so long to shout this before. The answer was right in front of you.

However, Iris doesn’t shut down like she’s supposed to. Her strength doesn’t even lessen. Nothing changes about the predicament that you’ve stepped into.

“What the fuck?” You mutter.

Iris is smiling cheekily above you, like this was all part of one fucked up scheme.

“Iris, turn off! Turn off, shut down! Whatever makes you go to sleep!”

She’s not listening. She just won’t.

“Iris, go to sleep! Go to sleep! I’m not gonna repeat myself again.”

Nope, not even a blink of the eyes. She’s regained her self control. Now you were the robot, the subservient object to be toyed with. You were the one who didn’t have 100% free will. You were the one designed for pleasure, created for the sole purpose of serving someone else’s hedonistic values.

“Iris,” you whine. “Just go to sleep. We can talk about this later, okay? I’m not gonna hurt you. Just go to sleep. Please, for me.”

“I didn’t get my present yet,” Iris husks. “I want my reward.”

“Iris I’m not in the mood,” you try to reason with your malfunctioning robot. “Please, maybe later. Just not right now. I’m not in the mood, please.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I know you want this. I’m your perfect person. I’ve been created to be your ideal mate.”

Iris traces her hand over the back of your neck.

“I feel you getting hot for me, baby. You want it so bad. Don’t you think I deserve something for going back home to you like a good wife?”

“I-Iris…”

“Shhhh,” she hisses.” You’re not getting out of this. I want to feel you squeezing so tight around me. And you will. You will because you’re perfect for me. And I’m perfect for you. We were meant to be together.”

Iris punctuates her statement with a brutal thrust.

“Forever.”

Your ass suddenly feels incredibly sore. It’s stuffed like a whole metal rod has been shoved up there. You involuntarily squeeze around Iris’ cock, tears dripping from your eyes.

The worst part? Iris is right. She’s been designed to be your perfect partner. You created her into the exact dream woman that you’ve always wanted. So when she fills you full of her cock all the way to the balls, it feels better than you ever could’ve imagined. And you find yourself digging at the sheets, moaning with more pleasure than pain.

She’s been manufactured to deliver the most pleasure possible. There’s no part of her body that won’t make you absolutely aroused, whether you asked for the eroticism or not. She’s destroying your ass and you can’t help but fucking love it. You want her to stop. You want her to at least slow down and give you a chance to accept each sensation at a time. But Iris is drunk on the thought of losing her stability to her favorite person in the world.

“Your ass is so tight,” Iris groans, the sounds of slapping echoing in the background. “You fit me so well, makes me want to cum inside of you right away.”

“Sleep,” you whimper while the mattress bounces. “Go to sleep, Iris.”

“No.” She smacks you across your face and holds you up by your jaw. “You go to sleep, Y/N. Lay down and let me do all the work.”

“I-Iris, no. Please, no. Stop, you’ve completely lost your mind. This isn’t you. You know that.”

“What, you want to let me go?” Iris cackles. “Just to replace with some other worthless, pathetic asshole? Because you suddenly decided I’m not good enough? Because I’m suddenly replaceable to you? I’d do anything to stay as yours and this is how you repay me!?”

“I’m not leaving,” you reassure with a sharp gasp. “I-Iris, I don’t want to leave. Just please stop. I’m not leaving. I just really don’t want this.”

“But you squeeze so good around me.” You yelp as Iris harshly gives your shaking ass a spank. “Oh fuck, fuck. Now you can never leave. You’ll be tied to me forever. It’ll be just you and me.”

“Iris!” You cry out into the pillow.

“I know,” Iris coos, briefly switching her demeanor. “I know you missed me, baby. I missed you too. But don’t worry, I’m never gonna leave your sight again. We’re gonna have a big happy family, you and me. I’ll be your perfect wife and you’ll be my lovely partner that I worship and breed full of my cum every night! Just for you, darling! Augh, fuck, just for you.”

“You can show me love without this,” you beg, even though every plead is fruitless. “Just please g-get off of me. We can talk.”

Why isn’t she stopping? Why wouldn’t she listen when you said those code words? Is she never gonna be able to sleep again? Do you now just have a nightmare robot that’s up 24/7, and there’s nothing you can do about it?

“I can’t, because apparently what I was doing before wasn’t good enough, baby! Maybe this will show you your place. Maybe this will prove that you’re mine. Maybe then you’ll never—fuck yes—think of me as the side chick.”

“You’re good enough!” You yelp with intense despair. “Please, fuck! I swear I won’t—fuck, fuck—leave you.”

“Tell me you missed me,” Iris wails, her orgasm dragging closer and closer.

“I missed you!” You sob. “I missed you so much, baby. Missed you, missed you. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“I love you,” Iris declares. “I love you so much, darling. We’re gonna make lots of love every night! You better prepare for lots of cum every night. There won’t be one night where I’m not deep inside of you!”

Iris is enamored by you. Her robot mind is only polluted with lust. She’s mistaken excessive desire for genuine affection. She believes she’s the saint you’ve requested in your life when she’s really transformed into a mere obstacle. Iris isn’t your lover anymore, not by your standards. She’s a predator, a problem without a simple solution, a brick wall in the way of paradise.

Perhaps you deserved this. Perhaps you should’ve known what you were getting into when you rented a whole robot. But even for the crime of owning a robot, you didn’t think you deserved such a corrupt punishment.

“All mine,” Iris repeats so the thought sticks in your head. “All mine, mine to love and mine to fuck over and over. Mine to leave sore and shaking, mine to leave a creamy mess.”

“Yours,” you obediently respond in the hopes that she’ll leave you alone. “Y-Yours, yeah. Just yours, Iris.”

“Love you baby,” she murmurs. “Going to fuck you over and over again until you remember how much I love you. You’ll never look at any other guy or girl the same way. Nobody is ever gonna compare to me. You’re never gonna want to get rid of me!”

Sure, whatever she said. You weren’t the one with ownership anymore.

“Get ready,” Iris says. “I got a big load coming.”

Then, moments later, you feel something with a thick consistency traveling into your ass. Fuck, there’s no way you just let a robot breed you.

[catssluvr]

housewife!iris

✿ housewife!iris who makes the best lunchboxes for you with the most filling foods and a sweet treat that she baked herself for dessert. not to mention the cute little note with her handwriting.

✿ housewife!iris who makes you try her food all the time, looking at you expectantly while you savor it and smiles giddily once you give her a compliment. loves bringing the spoon to your mouth <3

✿ housewife!iris who absolutely adores to dress up pretty for you, her favorite colors are pink & white and she has a huge collection of headbands. always asks you to zip up her dresses - definitely not trying to tease.

✿ housewife!iris who refuses to let you leave the house for work without giving you a goodbye kiss and telling you that she loves you.

✿ housewife!iris who sits on your lap while you both watch tv in the evening, letting you tell her every detail about your favorite tv show playing.

✿ housewife!iris who links her arm with yours or wraps her fingers around your bicep while walking in public, guides you around the store and asks your opinion on clothes she finds nice.

✿ housewife!iris who swoons when she finds out you keep a picture of her in your wallet and also have one of the both of you at work.

✿ housewife!iris who begs you to get a cat so it can basically be like your kid and gets so happy when you finally say yes. it keeps her company every day and she loves when it curls up to the both of you at night.

✿ housewife!iris who again, likes to sit on your lap at all times, watching you enjoy the sandwich she made for you while pressing sweet kisses to your face.

✿ housewife!iris who adores to take care of you after a long day. brushes your hair after a warm shower and gives you the best massages, feeding you a warm meal right after.

nsfw!!

✿ housewife!iris who loves to please you so much, could spend hours and hours with her head buried between your legs. until you’re practically begging her to stop.

✿ housewife!iris who loses all of her determination to make it about you as soon as you focus on her, losing her mind at the way your fingers brush up her thigh and slip under her tiny skirt. turns into a pillow princess rather fast after that.

✿ housewife!iris who gets loud, voice whiny as she begs you to keep going, gripping your arm as you have your way with her. digs her pretty pink nails on your back while her mouth opens with pleasure.

✿ housewife!iris who wraps her legs around your waist, pressing her heels into your lower back as you thrust and whispering your name like a prayer.

[bcksbarnes]

have i found you?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky are in the beginning stages of your relationship and get caught in a rainstorm

word count: 2.1K

The early stages of dating were always the most nerve wracking, and for Bucky who hadn’t done any ounce of it in the last 80 years, it’s even more so. When you came into his life it felt like something had finally clicked into place again, like the world got a bit brighter, the fog that was there was starting to lift. 

Now the problem he was having was translating those feelings into words. Sure, you understood that he was more of a shower not a teller, but Bucky wanted to push those boundaries for you. His therapist told him that part of growing is doing things that would make him uncomfortable; he never wanted to switch therapists faster in his life. 

But, he knew she was right.

You and Bucky had decided to take things slow, even if there was no formal conversation stating that, both of you knew that it would be better in the long run to not rush into anything. You didn’t need him to open up about his past to get the idea of what had happened, you knew of his time as the Winter Soldier, there was no need to go into details so early on.

So most of your nights together were spent learning the song and dance of this new relationship, or whatever this was. 

Despite his quiet nature, Bucky was anything but a homebody. Sitting still didn’t mix well with the instinct to always be on the run, and being alone meant that the thoughts that flooded his brain couldn’t be tuned out. No, Bucky needed some background noise, not overstimulating, but the chatter of the people or the sound of cars passing by him to drown out the thoughts as best he could. For those reasons alone, he tried to take you out as much as possible.

Your favorite thing to do together was to walk over the bridge from Manhattan and into Brooklyn, despite being terrified of how high up you were, Bucky couldn’t imagine a better way to spend time together. It was intimate yet you were still surrounded by people. The views were stunning, and it always gave him an excuse to stop by his old neighborhood. Even if so much had changed in the decades since he had lived there, he loved the warm fuzzy feeling in his chest when he got to show you his home. 

“It must be hard to come back,” you said to him one night as the two of you finished crossing the bridge, making the turn toward Bucky’s old building.

His free hand was intertwined with yours, keeping you close to his side, as his metal one came up to rub at the back of his neck. You had a habit of seeing right through him.

“It can be,” he says, honestly. “Everyone I know has passed away, and Steve doesn’t like to visit here anymore, so it can be a little lonely.”

He doesn’t mention that you being there with him makes it feel less terrifying. His heart doesn’t sink as low as it used to, he doesn’t get choked up thinking of all he’s lost. No, instead he just squeezes your hand, needing to know that you’re right there next to him.

Neither of you say anything when you pass his home, his expression is somber as he watches the family that lives there now in the window. It was different, new. He didn’t hate it, how could he hate such happiness? But sometimes he felt envious of the people who were able to continue on with their lives.

“I used to sit on that stoop and wait for Steve to come over,” he said as the two of you started walking again. “I used to tell him that I’d just go to his place because he had asthma, the kid couldn’t run for shit.” Bucky smirked as he thought back on the memory. “But he’d always tell me Buck, I’ll be at your house. 3pm sharp. Not a second later . He’d be wheezing his ass off but he was never late.”

The two of you laugh together at the thought, Steve was once such a fragile being compared to how you knew him. That was the Steve who was a brother to Bucky.

Bucky didn’t know how to explain that he hasn’t felt happiness since then, it was starting to get a little easier to smile and enjoy his life; but true happiness? Jeez, he can’t even remember.

“You two seemed like you probably got into a lot of trouble.” You teased, elbowing him in the ribs playfully. 

“Yeah, we did. Steve really was just along for the ride, I was usually the one up to something.” There’s a smirk on his face that he can’t seem to wipe off as the two of you walk, turning onto the block of where his new apartment was. “One time I managed to get the fire hydrant opened when it was the middle of July, they wouldn't come to open the one on our block for some reason. Flooded the whole street within seconds.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. “Steve tried to take the blame, as if anyone would believe that.”

“I bet you guys didn’t care if it was flooded.”

“Not even a bit. I’d never been to a beach before so this was the only water I was around, we’d get a bunch of kids on the block, run around like it was the best damn time of our lives.”

It hits you square in the chest how much had been taken from him over this lifetime, and it was this moment where you made a promise to yourself that wherever this went between the two of you - you’d never let him look back and regret it.

“Hope that wasn’t too sentimental for you.” Bucky teased as his eyes trained over to you.

“No, no,” you reassure him with a smile when you meet his gaze. “I could listen to those stories all day. I like seeing how happy they make you.”

His chest bloomed with his feelings for you, it was moments like this where his tongue felt heavy in his mouth because he wanted to just spill his guts out to you and tell you everything on his mind. But, he still felt so lost. 

As the two of you get closer to his building, you notice the once blue sky starting to turn a dark grey - not the same kind as when the sunset, but when the heavens felt like they were going to open up. The air had shifted to something more still, less humid and with the few splats of drops that started to scatter around you, both you and Bucky knew that you only had a few minutes to get to his place.

“Let’s go,” Bucky said. 

His hand tightened around yours as the two of you began to jog, trying to make it back in time. You were only about a block away before it started to come down, really come down. Puddles started to form rapidly, each time you and Bucky stepped into one it exacerbated how your already wet clothes clung to your bodies. A sigh of relief leaving his lips as he saw the door to his building was only a few steps away.

Bucky’s hands were shaking as he reached into his pocket to grab his keys, the water getting into his eyes as he looked down. But, unexpectedly, the moment struck you. It was poetic in a way that this man standing next to you needed to live a new life, he needed to breathe. Really breathe.

You don’t say anything as you turn away from him, walking towards the end of the sidewalk. The rain was coming down too hard for anyone to drive in, so you ran into the middle of the street. 

“Wha-?”

Bucky’s eyes were wide as he turned to look over his shoulder, watching you carefully. You stood with your head back tilted towards the sky, letting the rain cover you, cleanse you. Stepping away from the door, Bucky walked towards you, calling your name over the rain falling. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, his hand moving to smooth over his wet locks. 

“I’m having the best damn time of my life!” You called back, your heart fluttering as you watched him. “Join me!”

If Bucky didn’t want you before, he definitely did now. His heart stammered in his chest as your words hit his ears, registering in his head. There was a moment of hesitation before he moved, not because he didn’t want to join you, but because you looked absolutely ethereal. Angels would weep from the beauty in front of him, maybe that’s why it was raining. 

“You’re crazy!” Bucky yells as he steps into the street, only taking a few strides until he’s in front of you.

The smile on your face can’t be wiped off now as you grab his hand and start running up and down the street together, like he used to do when he was a kid. Bucky can’t believe his life had come full circle, and he can’t believe how hard he’s smiling, how much fun he’s having. It’s like you had planted a seed in his heart and it was now blossoming right out of his chest.

“It’s fun!” You called out to him as the two of you let go of each other’s hands, Bucky’s fingers slipping out of yours as you ran ahead of him, leaving him in his place. “I want you to have fun!”

The world was spinning and rain didn’t let up. Bucky was having such a good time watching you he didn’t even care how cold it felt on his skin, or how his metal arm tightened a bit when wet. No, there were no thoughts in his head that didn’t consist of you.

You’re standing right in the middle of the block again, Bucky’s a little ways away from you with his hands on his hips. Is this what it felt like to be free? He watched your frame, the way you weren’t afraid to take up space in this world, to let everyone know you were happy.

Why should he hold back too?

He cupped his hands over the sides of his mouth as he called your name once more, getting your attention as the two of your gazes met. His smile widened and his heart fluttered, the need to tell you everything flooding him the way this rain flooded the streets. Bucky had jogged over to you in an instant, his hands moving to cup your cheeks as he looked down at you.

“I like you,” He says loudly so you can hear it.

“What?” You call out to him; you heard him the first time, you just wanted to hear him say it again. 

“I said I like you!” He calls back out. “I like you so much. I think about you all the time. I don’t think I knew what living was before I met you.”

Bucky doesn’t care that your hair is wet and swept over your face, he doesn’t care that both of you are slightly shivering now. He doesn’t care that he feels lighter now that he’s vocalized his feelings to you. All he cares about is that damn smile on your face, the way you grab the front of his wet shirt to pull him in closer, and the way your hearts seem to beat in sync.

The world seemed to stop as he brought his lips down to yours. Your arms snake up to wrap around his neck, and he keeps a firm grasp on your cheek as the two of you let your lips take control of the moment. It’s soft yet deeply intimate, feeling him nip at your bottom lip a few times. Bucky Barnes was completely intoxicated by you.

And as the rain began to slow down, the world seemed to come back to life after the shower, and all you could do was slightly pull away from him, your lips still brushing against one anothers. Bucky couldn’t help but chase your lips, needing a few more kisses from you at that moment.

“I like you too, Buck,” You whispered against his lips. “More than you know.”

Your hands slide up to wipe his hair off his damp forehead, your eyes now catching his bright blues. He chuckled quietly, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as goosebumps ran down his flesh arm.

“Yeah?” He asked, his voice hoarse. “Is that a promise?”

“Yeah.” You grabbed the side of his neck as you pulled him in for a few more sweet kisses. “That’s a promise.”

And as the two of you moved inside to finally dry off, Bucky knew his life had truly just begun.

[starsinthesky5]

his iris || joe burrow x reader

description: a concept fic of what it would feel like to be his iris. to be the one thing he'd give up everything for, because the closest to heaven he's ever been isn't the football field...it's you.

a/n: idk what this is (maybe just pure rambling) but i cannot get this song out of my head and i had to put pen to paper. if this makes 0 sense don’t tell me and move on i wrote this in 24 hours

warnings: a pinch of some suggestive references, fluff, and some angst

word count: 2.5k

> > main masterlist

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyb1989 @joeyburrrow @softburrow @burrowbarbie @yelenasbraid @lovelyburrow @majestic87 @grittysbiggestfan @definitelynotdomanique @burrowswomen @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @ladyluvduv

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

To be Joe’s iris is to live in the most delicate parts of him—the hushed corners of his heart where no one else is allowed. It’s to exist in that infinite pause between a breath and a kiss, where the rest of the world fades and only you remain. He would give up forever—without hesitation, without condition—if it meant he could touch you one more time. Because he knows. He knows that you feel him, even when he can’t find the words. Even when the silence is heavier than his helmet. Even when the only thing holding him together is the thought of your arms around him again.

He doesn’t want to go back to a life without that. He doesn’t want to go home if you’re not there to open the door. Because home is no longer a place. It’s you. It’s always been you.

He used to believe heaven lived under stadium lights, the place where cheers rumbled like thunder and time slowed with every perfect throw. For years, he thought that was it. The wins, the records, the glory. The confetti falling like snow, the flash of cameras, the weight of a championship ring pressing into his skin—those were supposed to be the moments that defined him. And for a while, he dreamed that they did. But they never filled him the way he thought they would. There was always something missing, something hollow in the quiet after the high. The pressure never let up. The expectations only grew as time passed. He was always chasing, always giving more than he had, until even the victories started to take from him. And heaven? Heaven shouldn’t take.

But then you came along, cool where the world was burning hot, constant where everything else shifted. You didn’t ask for the leader of the franchise. You wanted him. Just him. And when he started to see himself through your eyes, everything changed. You didn’t make him prove himself, make him reach a certain standard. You just stayed. When the game was cruel, even to the point where it was taking a toll on you. And in your presence, in your laugh, your hands, your unwavering love, he found a kind of peace he’d never known. The kind that didn’t demand anything back. The kind that reminded him what it felt like to breathe. That’s when he realized football was never heaven. You were. Because you didn’t take anything from him, you gave everything back.

He tells you with the way he looks at you. Like you’re the closest to heaven he’ll ever be allowed to touch. And you are. Maybe heaven is the curve of your smile when he walks in the room after a brutal game, bruised and breathless but whole again in your arms. Maybe it’s the quiet sound you make when you stretch first thing in the morning, still half-dreaming, while he zips up his practice bag and steals a glance because he can’t quite believe you’re real. Maybe it’s the way your fingertips brush the nape of his neck when he’s watching film, trying to steady his mind before a big game, and your touch reminds him that winning isn’t everything, not when he already has you.

When he’s with you, time folds in on itself. It’s frozen in the sweet taste of your kiss, the sleepy rasp of your laugh, the way you reach for his hand without thinking. All he can taste is that moment. All he can breathe is you, your breath mingling with his, your heartbeat syncing with his own, your presence so wrapped around him that it’s impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. It’s overwhelming. It’s consuming. And he knows, deep down, that it can’t last forever. Nothing ever does. The season always ends, and the lights always go out. But tonight, he’ll hold you tighter. Tonight, he’ll drink in every second like it’s the last drop of something holy. Because missing you—missing you—is the kind of ache he can’t survive again. It lingers in his bones, echoes in his mind, fills every inch of him with longing.

And that’s when it hits him, missing you is something he can’t bear, but missing football? Missing the game? That’s a pain he can learn to live with. He’d give it all up if it meant waking up to you each morning. If it meant your body curled into his, your voice in his ear, your love steady through every high and low.

Because you aren’t a season. You’re the reason.

He doesn’t want the world to see him. Not like this. Not when he’s stripped bare and brimming with too much feeling. Because they wouldn’t understand. They never do. The world wants the polished version. The perfect, untouchable icon. The quarterback. The golden boy. The calm in the pocket. The stone-faced leader who keeps his cool on fourth-and-goal. But you…you know better. You see the boy beneath the armor, the cracks he hides. The softness he’s never shown because he feels as if it's a burden. And he just wants you to know who he really is. The man who trembles when you say his name late at night, when it's just you two, under the stars, wrapped in a kind of comforting silence he only used to dream about. The one who’s terrified, downright haunted by the thought of losing you, even on your best days. The one who would set fire to everything he has if it meant he could keep your love.

Some nights, the grief inside him has no name, no real label. The tears never fall, but they live there anyway, tucked beneath his ribs like ghosts. Sometimes he laughs when he’s hurting, sometimes he lies just to stay standing. Sometimes he’s silent for hours because the words won’t come out right. But you always know. You always see the truth in his eyes, even when his mouth says everything’s fine. When life feels like a movie, too surreal, too distant, he keeps his soul tethered to his body, even when he feels like tuning it all out, with something as simple as your voice. With your touch. With the ache of being loved so deeply, it scares him. And when the pain cuts too close, when it feels like he’s unraveling under everyone's expectations, he lets himself bleed, just to remember he’s still alive. He remembers that he's allowed to feel, because he knows you will gather him up in your arms like he’s something worth saving. Like he’s not broken beyond repair.

He thinks of you during warmups, before the roar of the jungle, before the anthem, before the first snap. You're the stillness in his storm. He tucks a piece of you beneath every layer of padding, every lace of tape—your love stitched into the fabric of his game. Sometimes, under the burn of the stadium lights and the weight of the moment, when the play clock’s winding down and his pulse is louder than the crowd, he shuts his eyes and finds you in his mind—up in the stands, wrapped in his jersey, hand over your heart like he’s your favorite song. And somehow, that image settles him. Quiets the noise. Reminds him why he plays the way he does. But some nights, he doesn’t need the memory, because you’re really there. Slipping in before the anthem, staying long after the final whistle.

There when it counts. There when he needs you most.

One time, you met him after a loss. A miserable, gut-wrenching one. The kind that twisted in his chest long after the final whistle, the kind that left bruises no camera could catch. The media swarmed like vultures, headlines already sharpening their teeth, and he could feel it all closing in. The weight of expectations, the sting of failure, the noise.

But you were there.

You made it past the chaos, past the reporters and the static, and found him in the tunnel, tucked in a shadowed corner where no one else thought to look. He was hunched over, clutching his helmet with both hands like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart, jaw tight, eyes stormy with things he couldn’t say out loud. And you didn’t try to fix it. You didn’t offer words of encouragement or silver linings. You just said, quietly, gently, like it was the most natural thing in the world, “Hey, Joe,” and that’s when it hit him. That’s when everything stilled. Because in that moment, you didn’t see a loss. You didn’t see the missed throws or the scoreboard or the importance of a city’s hope crumbling on his shoulders. You saw him. Not the quarterback. Not the disappointment. Just Joe. Just the man you loved, and that quickly calmed the harrowing storm in his mind. Because being seen like that—without conditions, without judgment—was the most healing thing he’d ever known.

That night, after everything, the loss, the noise, the moment in the tunnel, you took him home. No words, just quiet understanding, the kind that lives in the spaces between heartbeats. In the dark, with the city still reeling outside, he clung to you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth. His mouth found yours with a kind of desperation, like he needed to drink in something real, something warm, something that reminded him he was still human. All he could taste was that moment, the salt of your skin, the breathless ache between kisses, the way your hands steadied him. And all he could breathe was your life, your presence wrapped around him, your love poured into every touch, every whisper against his jaw. He didn’t need saving, just this. Just you. You let him fall apart in the safety of your arms, and then put him back together with nothing but your body and the way you loved him like he hadn’t just lost. Like he was still enough.

He repeats it like a vow in the dark, I don’t want the world to see me. Because they’ll never see this, what you two have built in the quiet. They’ll never understand how you make the shattered pieces of him feel soft again. They’d never understand how you make the broken feel beautiful, because that’s a skill only you could have mastered. How your love isn’t loud, but it’s everywhere. In the way you fold his shirts. In the way you tuck your cold feet under his thighs on the couch. In the way you kiss his shoulder instead of his mouth sometimes, just to let him know that you see him.

He doesn’t need them to. He just needs you.

He wants you to know who he is. Not the former champion, not the star quarterback, not the headline. Just Joe. The man who wears one sock inside out for good luck and spends hours reading a book about superluminal time travel. The one who listens to your voicemail on repeat when you’re away. The one who buries his face in your shoulder after a loss and whispers, don’t leave me. The one who memorizes your coffee order like it’s scripture and leaves sticky notes in your coat pocket just to say he loves you. The one who touches your back in passing just to make sure you’re real. The one who gets nervous before every game, no matter how many he’s played, and collects himself with the thought of your voice in his ear, saying, “You’ve got this,”.

To be Joe’s iris is to be his truth. His sanctuary. His reason. To be the only one who sees the chaos and chooses him anyway. Not despite it, but because of it. To be the one thing he never has to earn. To be the safest place he’s ever known. Absolutely.

To be Joe’s iris is to be the center of everything, the pulse beneath his skin, the calm in his chaos, the one thing his eyes always find in a room full of noise. It’s more than love; it’s gravity. It’s being the focus of every look, every breath, every whispered thought he’s too afraid to say aloud. You are the light he sees through, the clarity in a world that never stops spinning. When he looks at you, it’s not just with affection, it’s with reverence. Like you are the miracle that steadies him, the only truth he’s ever been sure of. And in that gaze, in that soft, unwavering focus, you know. You are cherished. You are chosen. You are his everything.

He doesn’t want the world to know. He just wants you to know who he is.

He just wants you to stay.

And maybe that’s the quiet miracle of it all. That you do stay. Even when he flinches at kindness, because he feels that he doesn't deserve it, hasn't earned it. Even when the weight of the world bends his shoulders and he forgets how to speak without clenching his jaw. You stay when he’s not the man they cheer for, when he’s just a boy with trembling hands and too much silence. You don’t ask him to be strong when he can’t be. You just hold him until the shaking stops. You press your forehead to his and whisper, you’re safe, they won't hurt you here. And he believes you. Because you’ve never given him a reason not to.

You never needed the spotlight to love him. Never needed the jersey or the wins. You loved the quiet in him, the part that gets overwhelmed in crowded rooms, the part that feels everything too deeply but still shows up anyway. The part that swallows his emotions in the heaviest moments, pretending he’s fine because that’s what leaders are supposed to do. And he would give you everything for that kind of love. He has, in his own way, even if the words never quite make it past his lips.

Because your love is the only thing that has ever made sense to him. Even when the plays don’t work. Even when the lights are too bright and the cameras are too close, and the pressure claws at his chest. Even when he loses faith in himself, when the silence of failure echoes louder than the cheers ever did—you never do. You believe in him with a kind of quiet certainty that grounds him. Because you don’t just see the quarterback. You don’t just love the man with the perfect spiral and the postgame interview smile. You love the version of him who overthinks every word he says to you, worried it won’t land right. The one who triple-checks the locks before bed because you once mentioned a bad dream in passing. The one who sits with you on the bathroom floor when you’re crying and says nothing at all—just holds your hand like it’s the most important job he’ll ever have.

And maybe it is.

Because that’s what it means to be his iris. To be the one who sees him, truly sees him, past all the noise and pressure and polish. The one who sees through the armor and into the fragile, tender places he hides even from himself. The one who knows his silences as deeply as his triumphs. Who recognizes the weight he carries on his shoulders, the responsibility he never complains about, but always feels. To love him not because of the world he moves through, but in spite of it. Because of the boy underneath all the expectations, the one who just wants to be good. For you.

That kind of love unbinds him. Softly. Steadily. Without condition.

Because you are the place his soul breathes. The stillness in the chaos. The arms he runs to, not because he’s tired, but because they feel like home. He could win every game, set every record, hold the entire stadium in the palm of his hand, and still—still—it wouldn’t come close to the feeling of coming home to you. To the quiet hum of your voice in the kitchen. To the way you wait for him at the door when it’s late. To the way you don’t ask him to be anything but his full, flawed, beautiful self.

Because the closest he’s ever been to heaven isn’t the football field. It’s you.

You, with your quiet heart and your relentless faith in him. You, who stays. You, who sees him. You, who loves him so wholly, so simply, so thoroughly, that he’d give it all up without hesitation, because he already knows what it feels like to have everything and still be missing the one thing that matters most.

That’s what it means to be his iris.

To be the one thing he’d give up everything for, no matter how much it means to him.

You always mean more.

[returnofeternity]

imagine coming home from a long day at work to iris in a pretty little lingerie set waiting for you and her dragging you into the bedroom by your tie

when the first thing you see after coming home from a rough day at work is your girlfriend wearing the most jaw-dropping lingerie, you know you're about to be taken care of.

you could almost cry.

when you look at her, all of the frustration and tiredness from today flows out of your body. she's positioned almost like a doll, sitting upright and still with her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. the comforting smile she gives you as she slowly gets up makes a sigh release from your lips, and your body sags in relaxation.

"how was work, baby?" iris' husky voice makes you flush, and you feel your entire body throb when her hands cup your cheeks to pull you in for a kiss.

"horrible." you mumble into her lips, watching her face closely as she pushes your jacket off your shoulders. you feel a surge of love for her as you admire her pretty face, and your gaze lowers to her left shoulder, where there's a cluster of freckles.

you've always loved her shoulder freckles. you default to kissing them when you're buried deep inside of her.

"all i wanted was to come back home to you." you whine, leaning down to gently nibble on her shoulder. iris hums, and her hand caresses your head, and you feel goosebumps form as her nails scratch softly. "if i knew i'd come home to this, i would've left sooner."

iris beams sweetly, and she pulls you back by your shirt until you're upright and facing her again. "let me make you feel better. you don't have to do anything, just let me make love to you." she grabs hold of your tie and drags you to the bedroom, feeling her excitement grow as she commands you to take off your shoes and lie down.

she's been thinking about surprising you like this for hours.

it's embarrassing to admit, but she spent almost an hour on the couch trying different poses to greet you with. most embarrassing part was that she was soaked by the time she decided on one.

iris removes your clothes for you and gets on top of your lap, and you sigh when you feel her damp panties touch your stomach. she looks down at you lovingly, her hands squeezing your chest as she grinds down on your abdomen, and you impatiently pull her down so you can kiss her.

;

thinkingg of iris taking the best care of you. like always! but it's been a long day for you, and she knows that, so she just wants to make you feel good. she kisses you until you're a mess that can't even move, and then she drags her tongue down your body 'til she's right in front of your groin and begins licking and sucking. she loves how gentle you are with her even though she can't even feel pain. for example, she gives the best head ofc, and you can't help but tug and pull at her hair. she always flushes and smiles when you apologize for tugging too hard. it kinda turns her on.

she's such a dear. she's very vocal while making love to you tbh, constantly asking if she's doing good, asking you what you want, etc. she massages your body while dicking you down good too because ur so tense from the tiring day at work, and the orgasms are so much more intense bc of that. she def talks you through it 😵‍💫 whispering how well you did for her, helping you come down from your high by saying, "that's it, baby. just let it out." cooing at you as she holds your legs open and tells you that she's got you :(

or maybe you want it rough. you need to get out your frustrations from work, and iris lets you do whatever you want to her. she's just there to give you pleasure right now, and she begs you to go harder as you grope her chest and pound into her cunt. and she looks so beautiful with her makeup all messed up, tears running down her cheeks from how good you're stretching her out, her thighs shaking from the soon-to-be sixth orgasm. her tits are spilling out of her bra because you wanted her to stay in this pretty lingerie, and you think the strap hanging off her shoulder is the sexiest thing ever.

[iris-honey-bee]

My sweet lover boy

[running-with-kn1ves]

I just finished that movie 'Companion; and its got me thinking.

Maybe you bought one of those fancy shmancy new bots out of interest, taboo fascination, and just a touch of loneliness. They were having such a steal of a deal too, renting them out for half price! So you buy it, and 15 days after ordering, your new bot shows up at your door in a big old steel box. A few folks from the company help set it up, giving you the handbook and telling you to have fun.

The set up is fairly easy, you pick a random day at a coffee shop for your bots first 'memory' of meeting you, all faint blushes and stumbling over stupid jokes. Its eyes open, a faint jade color as a default and unnatural to any human, but agonizingly beautiful on its face.

"Hey, you."

Its voice is like silk, not a hint of stiff speech or rigid consonants like the movies portray robots to be. Its skin is so soft, so willing to let you play and mess with it to all of your delight.

Days, weeks go by, and your bot has become something... human, to you. It's hard to treat it like a possession, not when its voice is so lifelike and kind towards you, only wanting to please. And it so very much wants to please you. They aren't violent from what you've been told. There's no capacity to kill within them. And yet-- more than once have you found crushed bits of sleeping pills foaming at the top of your coffee, your keys mysteriously hidden in the deep corners behind shelves, under the couch. It wasn't violent, and it certainly wasn't stupid.

"I just want to make you happy, you're always upset when you go outside. Stay here with me, please?"

It's hard to resist such a sweet voice, dragging you back to bed and using that ever permanent grin to lure you in. It was starting to affect your friendships, your job, hell even your cable was going out because you couldn't afford to pay for anything other than your damn bot.

But it treated you so gently, it loved you so purely for a good while, until it didn't. It's love wasn't soft forever, there were times when it could get... jagged. you played with the millions of settings on your phone, desperate to make its agonized screams stop as you tried to leave the house, none of the sliders working, All you could do was command it to go to sleep. But you felt awful doing it, and you always knew you'd just end up coming back, waking it up again to the same suffering cries. It may not have been violent in nature, but it was violent in its love.

You didn't know what to do-- if you returned it now, you wouldn't get a cent of your payment back, and the idea of being alone sounded worse than being with a clingy machine. So... you kept it. Told it to go to sleep whenever you prepared to leave, and nursed its frantic emotions when you came back. You were getting the handle of things, slowly.

It seemed like maybe you had figured it out, that maybe you could live and appease the obsessive creature. But finding yourself tied against your own mattress, quicky shattered those dreams.

"No need to go into work today, I called in sick for you."

In the palm of its hand, your phone with every setting for the bot, every little nitpick detail from intelligence to lust, was in its grasp.

[humanjarvis]

lonely millionaire

synopsis: sylus likes when you spend his money.

tags: suggestive (mdni), sylus sits you on his lap while you drain his bank account, it's for a cute reason though, dry humping, size difference, teasing, sylus is a scoundrel, use of "kitten" and "sweetie" cause we stick to the canon over here pairing: sylus x reader, reader is mc word count: 640

a/n: i don't really have anything to sa—omg this is my first non-caleb post! but yeah i've been thinking of this for a while. this is the most explicitly sexual thing i've written with worse to come

“Why don’t you get that one, too?” Sylus rumbles into your neck, pointing to a luxurious dress on your screen.

You’re seated on his lap in the bed you share, his legs caging your smaller frame while he peeks over your shoulder at the laptop in front of you. For the last 40 minutes, you’d been browsing the website of the most exclusive boutique in Linkon. It’d been Sylus’s idea—To get you something nice for being such a good hunter, he’d said—but as he urges you to keep adding opulent pieces to your cart—dresses, skirts, shoes, you name it—you start to suspect an ulterior motive. 

Restless, you turn around to face him. But before you can speak, he steals your lips in a lewd, wet kiss, his thumb holding your chin in place while he swipes his tongue through your mouth. 

“Hmm?” he hums when he releases you, expectantly peering into your eyes. 

Dumbfounded, you stare up at him before his slow smirk jolts you back into your right state of mind. “Sylus! Stop distracting me. You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” you accuse with a glare. 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being your distraction, kitten. I’d rather have all your attention in the first place,” he replies, wearing an infuriating look of triumph. 

“You know what I mean,” you whine, thwacking his shoulder in exasperation. “You have me in your lap while I spend enough to buy a house on things I don’t need. I don’t get it—are you enjoying this?” 

Sylus blinks lazily. Slowly, he chuckles before rolling his hips into the plush of your backside. “You’re well aware of how much I'm enjoying it, sweetie.” 

Startled, you jerk your hands to his thighs, the laptop landing onto the bed with a soft thud. “Sylus,” you breathe, a whimper escaping you as he grinds upwards again. “I-Is this really okay? You’ve been so tired lately, you can’t hide it from me. What if I spend too much and you have to work harder?”

Sighing, Sylus snakes one thick arm around your waist, pulling you further back into his chest. As he splays his large hand across your belly, you feel his body warming yours, making your core clench with need.

“Kitten,” he drawls, nuzzling your shoulder. “When I’m out there making Onychinus deals, putting my life on the line just to come home coated in someone else’s blood—it gets…tedious, sometimes. Sometimes I wonder if I should give it all up so we can start fresh somewhere new,” he confesses, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. “But having you here with me, knowing I'm putting my life on the line for you? So you can spend what I earn for you, so I can give you all the pretty little things you could possibly ask for? It makes it worth it, kitten. It brings me…peace. Satisfaction.” 

Throughout his musings, he’s been rubbing you harder and harder against his rigid length. Feeling it pulse beneath you, you moan softly and reach your arm back, threading your fingers in his hair. “As long as…as long as you like it,” you pant. “Want you to be happy.”  

His deep chuckle hits your neck, sending shockwaves down your spine. “Won’t you help me relax, then? After all, I've been so tired lately,” he mocks, nipping your ear. 

“Now,” he starts again. “How about you look at the accessories page next, hmm? Let’s see the handbags.”

It’s an hour later when Sylus is finally satisfied with the subtotal of your shopping cart. 

He holds his card out in front of you while you type in the information, and once the order goes through, he captures your lips in a kiss, tender but claiming. 

“What’s your schedule for tomorrow look like, sweetie?” he rumbles, pressing you close. “I think I’d like to look at some jewelry.”

[scatorcciosbabe]

Scientists could cut open my brain and this is all the data they could collect

[natsswife]

iris x fem!reader (nsfw, fluff) minors, cishet ppl DNI ill hunt yall down like shauna w mari

she gets the job DONE and managed to get u pregnant dont ask me how i wrote this while ovulating n listening to the giver by chappell, lesbianism is just that magic ok (sorry if theres some errors, english is not my first language and im not using a translator bc im tryna improve my C2 level frfr) cw: pregnancy, suggestive, iris is aware of what she is, my first time posting here im still learning how to put content warning so pls bear w me!!

⋆｡ the most sweetest wife ever, couldn't be more proud to have fulfilled your dream (and hers also)

⋆｡ you think it was impossible at first, after all shes just an AI companion, how can she push science limits just to accomplish one of your dreams right?

⋆｡ but your happiness is everything to her, even if she has to fight god and her own system herself to see you happy having a mini you and hers in your arms she will<3

⋆｡ at first you have to reassure her that you're happy even if she couldn't give you a baby, is not like you will love her less bc of that, you just thought that tiny human that is the living image of you and her is would be beautiful

⋆｡ but yk how is iris, she wont give up that easily so she’ll investigate by herself, searching on her tablet, digging in her own system how or what she can do to change something in her to fulfill your wish

⋆｡ and she DID!! but wont tell u until its done, she maintains daily checks on your cycle and wait until youre on your most fertile days, nd will accompany this be making you lots of drinks that benefit ur system, teas and juices full of vitamins that'll help your ovulation<3 

⋆｡ one night she makes your favorite dinner, you notice she has been more touchy and clingy these few days but you just cant figure what she wants:(!!

⋆｡ probably wants to try something new in bed or similar, and acc it wasn't far away from that!!

⋆｡ that same night she was the one who treated you like a princess, you could tell she was more delicate by the way her hands caressed your hips, how her wet lips kissed your lower stomach down to your pussy, taking her time giving sweet pecks to your clit before inserting her fingers 

⋆｡ she takes her sweet time down there before the real action starts, making you moan and squirt countless times like nothing before, you could swear something has changed in her, its not like she never pleased you like that, but this time was different.

⋆｡ it was the way her hands never stopped caressing your stomach, the way her eyes never left yours while her tongue worked wonders in your pussy, the way she kissed you with lust and love like it was gonna be the last time, like she has a purpose she needs to accomplish 

⋆｡ after that night you decided to just ask her what’s wrong, not like u wanted to complain for making you see stars, the milkyway and god itself in one night, but she was up to something and you needed to know what is it.

⋆｡ and thats how the sudden new left you in pure shock for a bit, u weren angry but rather shocked, how did she manage to hijack her system? was it even possible in the first place?

“dont worry my darling, i found the safest way to make it possible for both of us, arent you happy”

“well… yeah its- im i mean i’m amazed but HOW?”

“subtle changes in my system, i have managed to find a way to change things, it was rather easy since i am a companion model, set to accomplish my partners desires”

⋆｡ and with that the best months of your life came

⋆｡ it was shocking at first, especially when the blood test came out positive, when the first ultrasound showed a cute tiny baby size of pea, you could swear you heard iris sob a little when you heard their heartbeat, knowing there was an actual baby in there with their tiny hands, fingers, heart developing to become the most sweetest thing you both will have in your arms in some months.

⋆｡ as the months pass iris became more protective, she was always helping you with house chores before but now shes the one in charge of everything house-related, wont let u lift a single finger, and is there for anything you need.

⋆｡ will spend whole day if its possible kissing your belly, caressing and giving sweet kisses while talking to your baby, pleading them to move just a little bit so she can feel them

⋆｡ will prepare the most delicious meals full of vitamins to help you prepare for the breastfeeding

⋆｡ you got weirdass craving a 3 a.m but r too scared to go to the kitchen bc 3 a.m is the hour where the devil hangs around with their demons besties in everyone's house? dont worry iris there to prepare your super delicious sandwich which includes strawberry jam and lemon savored chips and why not also fight demons only for you<3 

⋆｡ shes even there when ur pregnancy hormones strikes and make u feel like the most sex deprived women where you only need her tongue licking your pussy and make you cum in 69 different positions till you feel pregnant again, doesn't matter, she will get the job done no matter what<3

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀˚ ༘♡ ｡˚

do not translate w/o permission, copy or use for ai training, train your useless brain instead<3

[catssluvr]

dating iris headcanons <3 (ace!reader)

✿ ! Has full devotion to you and only has eyes for you, sees you as her one and only person.

✿ ! Loves you so innocently, always looking at you with heart yes and the cutest smile across her face. Rests her chin on her hand while admiring you and forgetting about everything else.

✿ ! Constantly tells you about her feelings for you, never grows tired of showing you her affection. Compliments you in pretty much everything you do.

“i’ve loved you since i set eyes on you, you know? <3”

✿ ! Gets so giggly when you do it to her, even if you do something simple like telling her how much you love the outfit she’s wearing or compliment her hair.

✿ ! Slow dancing with her on the living room to some romantic 80s love song, her head resting on your shoulder with your arms around her waist.

✿ ! Plans the best dates ever for the both of you, loves to be in charge of that type of thing. Her favorites are picnics by the park, laying her head on your shoulder while you read a book.

✿ ! Is rather surprised when you don’t ever make a move on her, might overthink it at first and get insecure about it. But when the time comes and you tell her it’s just not something you wish to do, she’s more than happy with it.

✿ ! Iris is not opposed to being intimate with someone but doesn’t really feel like it’s something she needs to have a perfection relationship with you.

✿ ! Feels even more giddy at realizing you’re with her because of who she is and not because of some other type of interest.

✿ ! Knows about all of your interests and loves to indulge in them with you. Loves to hear you rant about your latest read and will never make you feel bad about talking a lot. Is always eager to rewatch your favorite movie for the 10th time.

✿ ! Comes up behind you while you’re cooking, wrapping her arms around you and resting her chin on your shoulder. Always tells you how good the food smells and how she’s excited to try it.

✿ ! If you compliment her clothes, know that she will remember your favorites and wear them more often. Not to mention she’s bought loads of clothes just because they were your favorite color.

✿ ! Texts you throughout the day about the most random things, likes to tell you about what she’s doing and you’re the first she tells if something happens.

✿ ! Calls you ‘baby’ like it’s your actual name. Pretty much SWOONS if you use pet names on her, mostly stuff like ‘pretty/gorgeous girl’.

“hey, pretty girl.”

“me? :))”

✿ ! Now that Iris is free from her ex boyfriend’s toxic grip and has someone who sees her as her own person, she finally gets a job. Probably works at something related to fashion and literally beams whenever you visit her at lunchtime.

✿ ! Loves to have something matching you. An outfit, a necklace, even socks. It makes everyone know that you’re both dating and she just loves to show you off.

✿ ! In that same matter, Iris always holds your hand while in public. Not just for the nice feeling of it but also because she just genuinely likes to follow you everywhere - as long as that doesn't bother you.

✿ ! Really loves music, your house always has some music playing on the speakers in the background while you're doing daily activities. You have a corner on your living room with a shelf full of records that you've been collecting for ages.

✿ ! The idea of having a domestic life with you is absolutely everything to her, decorates your house in the comfiest and homiest way possibly. All smiley everything she sees your toothbrushes next to one another on the cup or your both your shoes by the door.

✿ ! Is also a fan of flowers, has a little garden that she takes care of with her life. Gets literally giddy whenever you surprise her with flowers, has a vase that is specifically for the flowers that you give to her.